Tears of a Devil
by Torii-Butterfly
Summary: A very short piece, based around the near ending scenes of Devil May Cry. Once again, that beautiful face gave her life in order to save Dante's...now, Dante must confess to himself his guilt and near heartbreak. R & R, kthxnbai.


**A/N: **This is just a short piece that I had the idea to write after actually managing to complete DMC. It's might suck ass, it might not; and please don't say it's full of plotholes, because this is just an elaboration of the near-ending scenes. I know some of this is my own input (instances that weren't in the cut scenes). Spoilers to follow - R&R, kbai.

**Disclaimer: **I own: A fish named Fred in a plastic bag, and a box. Not DMC, sadly. Thx.

**Tears of a Devil**

_First my mother...and now you. _This was the one thought that crossed Dante's mind, as he cradled the blonde beauty - her warmth had since faded. He pressed her limp form to his own breathing one, but still, those emotions of guilt were inescapable. It was not so much that he had not saved her, when Mundus had sent that fatal blast...but more the things he had said, after that conftrontation with the Nightmare. Yes, she had tricked him...but the more he brooded upon it, and the more that he remembered...he knew whose fault it had truly been. Trish was a doll, and only the part of Mundus' plan that had lured the devil hunter there in the first place. He had always fallen for a pretty face, and one such as Trish...it was wrong, and he knew it. She was the exact replica of his mother, created to be by the dark lord himself...but perhaps that was the reason he had fallen for her. His mother, Eva - she had died trying to save both him and Vergil - and so perhaps he was unwilling to allow such a thing to happen again. What irony. Once again, the beautiful face had saved his life at the cost of her own. It was wrong for him to fall in love with the identical form of his mother...twisted, true...but the truth remained. He had been harsh, because he had fallen in love - something he thought would never happen to him, since he had been robbed of such an emotion, after Eva's death. He pressed her close to him, once again, this time placing a kiss upon her forehead, before lowering her again.

"I...I should have been the one...to turn your dark soul into LIIIIIGHT!!" The lifeless female still in his embrace, Dante howled, throwing his head backwards. A devil should never cry...not a son of Sparda...and yet, tears were stinging his eyes. As he brought his head back down, the crystalline drops fell, landing on her soft skin. Trish had not been entirely evil. She had been created, and so it would seem almost natural that she would serve Mundus. Still, there had been hope. A beautiful face...one so much like his mother's...it was inevitable, but he hardly felt it should be. His mother had always been so pure; this was why it could not have been true...that face - he had associated it with purity and charity for as long as he had been alive. He growled, almost silent against the teardrops falling to the floor, the two of them reflected in the shining marble. He was not growling at the woman held in his embrace, nor her murderer. He was growling at his own failure, as much as he hated to wallow in both self-pity and self-hatred. She could have been saved, and he needn't have judged so quickly...his love for her had simply made the betrayal seem sop much worse. He bowed his head once again, this time sliding Trish from his embrace, placing her on the cold floor, and standing, before removing his amulet.

"This was my mother's..." Dante's voice was still quiet, although it grew in volume as he spoke. He placed the blood red amulet on her chest, perusing her form for a moment, before closing his eyes, drawing the true form of Sparda from his back.

"Now my father is here, too..." He continued, planting the blade of the shimmering red weapon into the marble with ease. He waited. He did not know what he was waiting for - a miracle would have been nice - but he admired her form once again, nonetheless. Her soul was a window of opportunity, and he could have changed her...they could have been one...she was not truly a devil, just a misguided soul...she could have been his. More crystalline tears journeyed down his face as he stood, perhaps stupefied by the moment...regretting, and wondering..._first my mother...and now you..._

It is true that sometimes, a devil may cry.


End file.
